


predetermined history

by corrupted_voracity



Series: topgoro week │ january 2021 [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alpha Akechi Goro, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs I guess, Belt as Blindfold, Bottom Persona 5 Protagonist, First Time, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mara makes an appearance but no tentacle sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild breeding kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Persona 5 Protagonist, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, That's a tag I'll always use, Top Akechi Goro, no beta we die like me during topgoro week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted_voracity/pseuds/corrupted_voracity
Summary: The strange shift in air is the only warning Akira’s addled mind gets before the shadows around him explode in a shower of blood and black, momentarily bathing him in all kinds of substances until the magic of the Metaverse washes over him and erases all proof.And Akira, too dazzled, merely blinks, rakes his neck-Alpha.Alone in Mementos, a weird shadow forces Akira into heat. Black Mask finds him.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: topgoro week │ january 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093454
Comments: 47
Kudos: 443
Collections: TopGoroWeek #1 2021





	predetermined history

**Author's Note:**

> _Welcome to the depravity that is my topgoro week series!_
> 
> **Most of my stories will contain (mild) dub con, so keep that in mind if you follow my series. Always read the tags!**
> 
> This one contains mild dubious consent due to, ahem, Joker's situation, but I assure you Akeshu are soulmates and very much into it even though they don't know it yet. I can only stress that tentacles do appear, but all that's happening in that regard is some grabbing and questionable liquid swallowing.
> 
> **day 1: a / b / o**

As much as Akira loves his Phantom Thieves, it gets a little too much at times.

He isn’t used to large crowds or people genuinely wanting to hang out with him every waking hour since he was forced to leave Inaba for his probation. It doesn’t help that he’s the only omega in the group as of now, the other’s beta and alpha instincts automatically making them more protective and attentive towards him whenever he’s in their vicinity.

They mean well and Akira really appreciates that it all doesn’t solely stem from his second gender, but with the recent addition of Yusuke in their team, a calm and yet headstrong alpha Akira isn’t too comfortable around yet, he definitely needs some time for himself.

Recalibrate the social skills he's been... _working_ on, for the lack of a better word. 

Thus the reason why Akira finds himself completely alone in Mementos for a change of pace; Morgana bribed with sushi to stay at LeBlanc’s attic.

Due to Madarame’s takedown the Phantom Thieves recently have gotten access to lower area, but Akira chose to stay on the path of Aiyatsbus in case he either gets careless or overestimates himself – he doesn’t want to get into a situation where he’s rendered helpless due to a status ailment or a spell he's unfamiliar with, completely at an unknown shadow’s mercy with no one to back him up.

Yeah, he’d really like to avoid that.

And while Akira thrives around people in a way a flower gently tilts its head towards the sun, being alone feels good – no one to fuss over (him), no watchful eyes monitoring his every movement in hopes of finding proof for the ruthless criminal his school brands him as. 

The shadows here aren’t really strong enough to pose a challenge for Akira, even without his teammates, but it’s more about the primal relief of getting to mindlessly slice something up than seeking an actual challenge. 

Always the Phantom Thieves in mind, he occasionally switches to different personas he recently acquired or fused, testing out combinations and spells that might fit into the group dynamic.

But the next shadow Akira confronts in the dark underbelly of Tokyo makes him halt.

Akira’s seen a lot of questionable monsters revealing themselves from beneath the cloak of darkness – this one, however, sends a row of unpleasant shivers down his spine.

It’s a mess of green tentacles strapped onto what looks like a golden wagon with a prominent, distinctively phallus shape sitting proudly on top of it. Are those- arms and a mouth?

Nevermind the fact it looks too much like a dick to not be one, the aura it executes despite its ridiculous appearance raises the hair on Akira’s neck.

_Proceed with caution._

This monster is strong – definitely doesn’t belong to these floors of Mementos, though that hadn’t been apparent when Akira challenged its shadow form.

Before Akira can make any plans to flee from this fight, the thing is already driving with full speed towards him, tentacles wriggling obscenely around it. 

“What-?”

He ducks under several, elongated appendages and slices what he can’t evade. Akira is the fastest out of the Phantom Thieves, and yet the shadow manages to match his agility and reaction time with little effort.

As Akira dodges between an array of tentacles and loose spells, he gets the vague impression that it doesn’t seem to be outwardly attacking him. It's as if it's tiring him out. Forcing him to constantly be on his feet, jumping and rolling and sprinting out of the way, draining his stamina slowly, but steadily. 

One one the tendrils manages to get past his defenses, winding itself around his arm once. Akira has never wielded his dagger faster. The tentacle bursts into polygons of black and red before it even hits the ground, and it’s in that moment he realizes this monster is trying to _catch_ him. 

He spares a brief look at the green shadow - its mouth is drooling, wheels clattering in irregular and impatient intervals. It truly makes for an unnaturally horrific sight. 

Akira’s consumed enough questionable fiction by sheer exposure alone to know in what direction this is going if he doesn’t get out of this monster’s reach _fast._

He summons Arsene, his strongest persona up to date to cast an Agilao the next time the green tendrils get just a bit too close to Akira for his liking, intent on just burning his way through to make his escape (maybe even down the shadow, if he’s lucky.)

Akira doesn’t expect the tentacles to absorb the fire though. He’s perplexed enough at having picked the wrong element by chance for one, two, three tentacles to be able to reach out and wrap around him.

He loses the grip on his dagger as he's promptly lifted into the air, the weapon uselessly cluttering to the floor.

Akira's face drains of color. “Fuck-” 

The tentacles winding in tighter motions around him feel unnatural, and he's horrified to realize the cool wetness of them reaches even through the thick layers of his clothing, making him squirm in their hold. 

Akira mentally shuffles through his personas to find a different element that isn’t fire. 

But what usually comes as easy to him as breathing quickly proves to be a mountainous task as soon as the monster is _much_ closer to him than it was before. As Akira's dangling from its grasp, uselessly trying to get one of his limbs free, a strong smell starts invading his nose which clogs his airflows in an instant.

It's thick, something that lies heavily on his tongue, pressing down as if Akira's actually having something inside of his mouth, coating every surface and pore it can reach. Akira’s only response is to squirm even stronger, the strange smell triggering countless alarm bells inside of his head. 

But his movements only serve to make the tentacles coil around his waist and arms tighter, almost akin to a warning. Akira holds his breath in return, tries to focus on something else than the smallest sparks of... _something_ within him – he feels a bit lightheaded, warmer too, which shouldn’t really be possible with how much he’s shivering due to the cold tendril's hold and the absurdity of the situation. 

The green shadow is now directly in front of him, and Akira knows he shouldn’t take another breath with how weirdly he’s feeling right now, writhing in the tentacles’ grasp that haven’t really done anything aside from- waiting?

But for what?

Despite his best efforts, the oxygen in his lungs runs out. The moment Akira gasps for air, a tentacle forces itself inside the newly presented opportunity. Akira abruptly chokes at the foreign intrusion – rather than much needed air, a thick appendage fills his mouth completely, going deeper and deeper that Akira’s eyes bulge, fearing it’ll tear his throat apart.

Everything burns. His vision swims and overlaps with green and red shapes, panic rattling the cages of his lungs. There’s not even room to properly choke. Instincts flare, and Akira only remembers he can breathe through his nose in what must be the last second.

He almost regrets doing so because the moment he does, the lingering scent in the air invades his senses at full fore, sloshing through his entire body like waves of water slowly, but mercilessly drowning him. A muffled, raw groan is all the sound Akira manages to produce. 

The scent, this sensation, it- it reminds him distinctively of something alpha, as distorted and wrong as it is.

And only now Akira realizes the monster seems to be secreting some sort of fluid into his throat, coating his insides, dripping into his stomach. 

Fuck- he doesn't know how much the monster made him drink already.

A large part tells Akira to submit, to let whatever is going to happen unfold. It lures him with promises of pleasure that seizes his current helplessness in an iron grip with a smile. 

But despite how warm and tingly Akira's entire body has started to feel, his clothes suddenly dragging over his skin considerably rougher than before, Akira scrambles for the little control he still has in the edge of his mind, one that's always reserved for _Joker._

Akira channels all of his energy into his bound arm, and just barely manages to pull it towards him. The moment his fingers grasp the edge of his mask, Akira lets out a muffled cry, ripping it off. A persona he can’t remember the name off surfaces, casting a chilling Mabufula upon its release. 

Luck finally seems to be in Akira’s favor because the green monster cries out. 

All the countless tentacles around and in him immediately retract upon making contact with the ice. Akira abruptly falls down, a coughing fit momentarily wrecking his shaking frame. Before he can register pain or anything else that’s coursing through his body and shouldn’t belong there in the first place, he rises and runs as fast as his weak limbs enable him to, taking random turns and barely dodging other shadows all to _get away._

Akira doesn't know how long he's been running, body purely feeding off adrenaline. But he only stops until he’s in a large, dark room that usually holds one or two treasures. It's luckily devoid of any shadows, so Akira makes his way further inside.

Drained, he collapses behind one of the several pillars supporting the ceiling, sliding towards the floor.

And only when he’s on the ground, reaching for semblances of his earlier control does Akira process the tangent heat stirring within him. 

A small torrent, one that's already expanding by the minute, consuming the space inside of his stomach until it’s too large to ignore. 

Akira grimaces, tries to move - and painfully becomes aware that his coat and vest are too restrictive, trousers too tight despite their relatively loose design.

Akira tries to calm his breathing so his chest doesn’t heave as much, forcing the material of his chest to uncomfortably drag across it with each breath he takes, and a whine escapes him- god, he’s so warm, something heavy and promising crawling up each of his limbs at a tantalizing pace.

He finally recognizes what’s going on when he catches himself biting into his gloved hand to stifle a loud moan at the sensation of something wet collecting in his underwear, thighs rubbing against each other to get some friction, some sort of relief for his newly appeared ache. 

Is he- _going into heat?_

Fuck. 

Akira didn’t take his suppressants for this month yet, but there’s absolutely no way it just randomly caught up to him within the span of just a day.

Akira remembers the green, dick shaped monster, the tentacles winding around his body, the smell invading his senses and the liquid Akira's been forced to swallow-

He groans at the memory of something thick inside his mouth, filling him so good, stuffing him-

Akira bites into his bottom lip, trying to clear his foggy head.

Stupid omega instincts and stupid Metaverse fuckery, messing with his biology. 

He needs to get out of Mementos – it’s another matter if he goes into heat in a public place where people would surely find it in themselves to help an omega in distress. Call an emergency hotline. 

But here in the crimson labyrinths of Mementos, Akira’s completely and utterly alone, only humanities’ worst desires keeping him company. 

God knows what they’d do to him.

God knows Akira’s body would probably _like_ it at some point.

He definitely does not want to lose his virginity indirectly to a random salary man who’ll never even know goddamn Akira’s face.

Who'll probably never know he fucked an omega in the first place. 

Akira stops rutting into his hand – when did he even start doing that? – and shakily gathers his wits as he stands up, supporting himself with a hand on the pillar. 

More slick drips out of his hole due to the upward motion. Akira winces. Digs his fingers into the stone and just barely catches a whimper hanging in his throat.

Even his gloves feel restrictive around his hands, caressing the sensitive skin of his palms. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much with only his hands, and when Akira experimentally clenches and unclenches his fingers, the motion only encourages the fire in his lower belly.

Akira doubts he can run properly. He goes for a light jog instead and prays to all existing gods he won’t run into any dangerous shadows.

With how wobbly his legs are, slick constantly making everything wetter and all kinds of sensations still battling for dominance inside of him, he’s sure even the weakest Garula can swipe him off his feet. 

After which he’ll just stay on his back or stomach, happily presenting himself to the shadow that managed to down him. 

It takes a lot of concentration to summon a persona at this point to keep other shadows at bay. Somehow, Akira still manages despite the fact his throat is positively parched and it's gotten so bad that he wants nothing more than to stop and grind into the disgusting ground, hoping someone would find and take him to relieve whatever churns his entire body with persistent desire.

It gets worse with each step – he’s already climbed one area back up, but his sight begins to blur a little as soon as he rounds what must be the hundredth corner, phantom flames positively licking at the inside of his skin, threatening to incinerate.

Akira – Akira has no idea where he is at this point. He’s not even sure what he’s searching for, only knows he has to keep moving for whatever reason, anything to distract him from the insatiable thirst that’s on the verge of pushing the few rational thoughts left in his mind out, beyond reach and recovery. 

Akira’s at a dead end when all sensations spill over.

He crumbles like a broken doll, gripping the floor with his hands like it could stabilize him and the heat. His body is ablaze, eating him alive, telling him he has to find something to grind on, something to stuff his hole with to keep him sated, preferably with a big knot to keep everything that an alpha is going to spill into him inside if he’s a good omega.

Akira involuntarily groans at the notion. His fingers are too uncoordinated to push off his coat completely, but he manages to get it pooling around his elbows at least, the weird air of Mementos hitting his free shoulders and making him shiver. He rubs his thighs together, scratches a nipple through his vest – god, this already feels so good, electricity shooting up his spine, more slick collecting, but it’s not nearly enough for how greedy his body is, yearning for things Akira’s fingers can’t provide. 

Only vaguely does he register shadowy forms slowly closing in on him. They almost look fascinated, Akira thinks. Forming a half-circle around him, limbs twitching, eyeing him like he's prey.

_Which he is._

Should he – should he put on a show? His omega whines at that, so it must be a good idea.

Akira spreads his legs a little, arches his chest while slipping his free hand inside his pants to directly feel up the amount of slick he’s already released. Making sure everybody gets a good view on how soaked his pants are, how wet and wanting and ready he is.

He’s sure his pheromones are clogging up the air around him – he knows from Ann he smells like a mix of coffee and brown sugar with the softest hint of something flowery.

A rather unusual scent given by how _sweet_ omegas mostly smell, but nothing that seems to deter the shadows – no, the opposite actually.

Akira licks his lips as they draw nearer, their disgusting visages not mattering if they possess something to satisfy the need within him. His vision blurs again when Akira scratches at his perineum - his gloves make it all the more lewder and his eyelashes flutter behind his mask at the sensation of leather dragging against hot, wet skin.

So much and yet so little. Akira needs more, he needs-

The strange shift in air is the only warning Akira’s addled mind gets before the shadows around him explode in a shower of blood and black, momentarily bathing him in all kinds of substances until the magic of the Metaverse washes over him and erases all proof.

And Akira, too dazzled, merely blinks, rakes his neck-

_Alpha._

Strong, capable alpha, closing in on him, looking down on him, completely eradicating any of Akira’s previous thoughts with how good they smell.

Akira’s sight is still blurry- is he crying a little? It hurts, being so empty, but an alpha is in the Metaverse with him who is clad in black and it all doesn’t matter, not when they smell this delicious – old books, lemongrass, leather, bloo-

“Now, what do we have here?” a distorted voice scoffs.

The tone and the other’s figure makes him think it’s male.

Akira gasps when sharp fingers – claws? Grab him by his chin, digging into it and- oh, his whole body is lifted up, solely by that, like he's a helpless kitten.

More slick rushes out of him at the unmistakable showcase of strength.

Akira’s somewhat brought face to face with a visor he can hardly see through. He blinks a few times, thinks the other might be talking to him, but all Akira can concentrate on is what seems to be red eyes staring so intensely into him that Akira can’t decide whether he wants to press himself closer or run.

Akira groans, tries to focus on what the other is saying instead of how husky and rough they sound.

“-can’t believe you’d go into Mementos like this. You’re truly more reckless than I thought you to be.”

No no no – he isn’t careless, Akira is proud over his omega status, but he’s also careful and that one shadow is responsible for this, _not_ him.

It’s not his fault he’s in full heat right now, sweating, panting, mouth drooling, hole dripping at the aspect of someone spreading his legs apart, filling him to the brim.

"The leader of the Phantom Thieves." Claws draw pinpricks of blood. "What a pathetic sight."

In a lapse of clouded judgement a faint, foreboding feeling pulls Akira out of his daze, just enough for his head to be above the viscous surface that wants to drag him further down. 

This person knows Akira. 

Knows he’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves.

Madarame mentioned something about another Metaverse user, someone with a black mask.

However, all Akira's currently seeing are the eyes keeping him prisoner, what looks like a sliver of disappointment presenting itself beneath a sea of colored rage.

The need to justify the reason of his current state in front of the alpha is a matter much more pressing than anything else.

Fuck, Akira'd do a lot of things to get the alpha to touch him. 

But before Akira can try and open his mouth, there’s a red saber inches away from his face, glowing dangerously.

The heat clashes with that of his skin. 

“I should kill you,” the alpha murmurs darkly.

The finality of the statement along with the visual threat brings more resemblance of clarity back to Akira’s fogged state of mind.

This person is clearly more than just dangerous. Akira doesn't doubt the one currently holding him in his grasp is Black Mask.

The ease in which he talks about killing, the almost practiced nonchalance over the entire situation. Yet beneath the torrents of urgent danger rearing in each aspect of Akira's mind, he merely finds himself flushing.

Growing hotter.

And- Akira’s still not dead, still in the alphas grasp, and he sees the grip on a saber in his periphery shaking just a little, the red eyes Akira can make out behind the obscurity of the visor dilating by the second.

Akira is honestly surprised the alpha didn’t mount him immediately with how many pheromones Akira must be emitting at this point – probably the work of the stranger’s mask, since it looks like it covers quite a bit of his face, if not all.

A small part of him marvels at Black Mask’s self control, evident in how Akira’s neither getting stabbed or railed into the ground just yet.

A bigger part desperately wishes the alpha would throw all of that aside and just fuck him already.

God – Akira really, really wants to feel this ruptured tension inside of him.

He swallows, barely resists the urge to wrap himself around Black Mask, to nuzzle into a neck to take in more of that delicious scent making him feel more than light headed. 

Akira manages to find a word, chews it a few times before he utters it past the claws still holding his chin, past the jagged fangs of a saber inches away from kissing his skin with more than just bruises. 

“P-please,” is all he gets out, breathlessly, desperately.

Akira knows and doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he hopes he gets a point across anyway.

He’s so fucking wet, trousers, vest, everything sticking to him to the point where Akira begins to care less and less how debauched he looks if he can only get the other to _touch_ him. 

All of his senses are screaming for this. 

And if the situation isn’t already mind warping enough, Black Mask growls - the hand on Akira’s face is suddenly gone, but he’s being slammed into the wall next, the looming presence of an enraged alpha caging him in from all sides.

It’s all around him.

 _Physical,_ consuming, so potent and dark that Akira can’t help but whimper at being given so much, and it wraps around him like a warm bed of thorns. 

“Filth,” Black Mask spits, putting his sword with practiced, flourished movement away Akira would have probably admired another time. 

He moans instead. 

Another growl, closer, claws pressing into his wrists, keeping him pinned. As if Akira’d want to escape when the other's burning eyes are already enough for his omega to purr with want, searching for a way to please the alpha before him. 

_Anything._

“Shit-" Black Mask curses under his breath, blinking. "Don’t look at me like that. I should- I should-”

“-fuck me,” Akira purrs without missing a beat, managing a lazy grin which promptly contorts into a lewder expression at the sudden pressure on his crotch – Black Mask is grinding into him, and- _oh,_ more slick gushes out of Akira at the feeling of a bulge against his, revealing the other is anything but unaffected.

Just as hard as him. 

“You really are a slut,” the alpha snarls into his ear, but his voice is brittle around the edges, like it's taking a lot out of him to accumulate words and glaze them in control. “Seeking the knot of someone who just threatened to kill you? Are you like this for any other alpha as well?”

His grip tightens - possessively, almost, as if wanting to make sure Akira gets the message _physically_ as well.

Akira manages a whine, his brain only filtering out the important information.

“No- haven’t been with anyone, just-” he falters, words failing him, moving out of his sluggish grasp until they clumsily spill. “N-not a slut.”

The alpha stills for a few, apprehensive heartbeats where the circumstances of the situation only further siphons strength and will out of Akira, and he distinctively wonders if he said something wrong.

But Akira didn't want to lie and say he mated with others, either.

Would the- would the alpha have preferred that? 

Some pressure on Akira is released before he can fall into distress. There’s rustling, metal clicking against each other somewhere outside of his view, and then Akira’s front is cold as the other leaves him.

Akira wants to chase, press their bodies back together to sate the endless depths of need inside of him that only continue to grow with each inhale of the alpha’s scent, but his mask is suddenly taken, vision dipping into darkness. 

Warm, sturdy material slides over his eyes, smelling more like sweat and leather than anything else.

Confused touches confirm its some kind of belt. With his visual sense moving into the background, his other senses push forward, making them more receptive than before, pores opening for each little detail that might have been lost beforehand. 

It’s a sinful kind of terrible – the heat licking all over his body worsens as Akira becomes consciously aware of how much he’s aching, wanting, needing in the vast space of his own thoughts.

Slick dragging across his skin, the faint tremble of weak knees. 

Maybe Akira should get terrified at the aspect of his vision being taken, at being so weak and defenseless the other could literally do _anything_ to him right now, but it only adds into the pits of desire pooling around his lower body half. 

“Ridiculous,” Black Mask mutters. “I’ve grown fucking soft or something.”

There’s no distortion in his voice this time – the rich, sensual timbre glides across Akira’s ears like a sensuous caress and _god please talk to me more._

Was that the reason why he blindfolded him? Did he take off his stupid mask that prevented Akira from seeing the apha’s face so he can take his scent better in?

Before Akira can think of an answer himself, the world flips inside of his head, and then he’s cradled in a surprisingly soft hold against a sturdy chest.

In midst of all his lowly desires of wanting to be filled, Akira’s heart lurches at how protected he feels – but surely he’s going to get carried to a safe area where he can finally get knotted, isn’t he? He’s so pent up that Akira’s sure a direct touch on his hole or dripping length would make his entire body arch in blissful release.

Akira feels Black Mask taking off the moment he loops his wobbly arms around a neck – he's fast, so much faster than Akira, even with a needy omega in his arms.

“I’ll get you out of Mementos,” Black Mask murmurs, voice strained. “You better not show your face around here anymore.”

Akira whines. No, this is not what he wants, least of all needs. 

He doesn’t want to get carried to the entrance. 

He wants to get _fucked._

They’re going up another floor – it won’t be far from a safe area now from where Black Mask can get them towards the entrance, and Akira squirms in his hold, grows more desperate at the dreadful notion of being left alone.

It only took a few minutes for the faceless alpha that'd always visit Akira's dreams to attain a more distinctive shape - he still doesn't have a face, but at least a body, a scent now, and Akira won't be satisfied with riding out his heat alone.

Fingers and toys won't be enough, not after this.

Akira craves this alpha, needs him, even if all the other did was barely touching him more than necessary.

It’s almost painful – the arms carrying Akira are strong, belonging to an equally capable persona user – and what a persona user he must be if the cries of shadows from all sides are anything to go by, Black Mask casually annihilating shadows with the heavy and chaotic presence his persona emits left and right like it’s _nothing._

 _Strong mate_ , something whispers inside his head.

And yet that strength isn’t being used against Akira in the kind of way he really wants right now.

He needs- he needs to snap that resolve, make it clear how willing Akira is, how obedient he can be.

“Please,” Akira deliriously pants, mouthing at what must be the stupid part of the black mask that keeps him from nuzzling his nose into the scent glands producing the smell that’s been driving him wild for way too long now.

It’s so potent, thick and delicious, something Akira wants to roll himself around in for days, coat every clothing he owns in so he can just permanently drown in the scent, think of it as he pushes his fingers inside of him, imagining something else. 

“I want you, please-”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” the alpha hisses, tightening his grip around Akira’s legs.

And that simple pressure already feels too good, pleasure shooting from his thigh into his spine, makes Akira writhe.

His finger grasp onto hair – a bit damp, but silky and soft and long, perfect to grip- “And don’t distract me. I only have that so control with you being like this,” Black Mask darkly finishes. 

Is he-

Is Akira really not good enough?

Distress fills him at that thought. Is his scent wrong, is he ugly? The notion of being a useless omega that can’t even entice an alpha in the peak of his heat evokes a coldness within him, tearing through his raw desires with frozen claws – so much that Black Mask must notice it too, because his grip falters before tightening again, pressing Akira closer than before in lieu of his words, instincts to protect and soothe battling with rationality that spells murderous intent. 

“Fuck, no- God, don’t pull that shit on me. _Behave._ ”

It’s not quite an alpha’s command just yet, but it’s something _close_ to it and Akira’s trashing stops almost immediately. 

He manages a small whimper and gets a low, almost pained groan in return.

They’re taking so many turns. Akira doesn’t know where he is, especially since everything is still dark and Black Mask is now audibly panting into his ear which is as distracting as the fuzzy warmth around him is that never quite developed the spikes he’d like, but Akira thinks they haven't used an escalator in a while, remaining on the same, current floor.

The alpha does want him, right? He didn’t deny Akira earlier. He’s still holding him, protecting him from the shadows ganging up on him earlier. Still does, the active persona feeling so wild, so free around him-

All he needs to do is-

More slick gushes out of him, and Akira whines in tandem with Black Mask’s animalistic growl.

“Please,” he pants.

Arches his back and presents his neck, uncaring of what a desperate sight he must make. “Please fuck me.”

“No.”

“Alpha-”

 _“No,”_ the other repeats between gritted teeth, but his voice is so strained and heavy now, laced with a warning undertone that could snap any second. It's precisely what Akira wants, and he rakes his swamped brain for something to say, unashamedly moaning out the next words because-

“I can’t- just, Alpha, fuck me, _breed me_ , god, please, _Alpha-_ ”

The body carrying him tenses and uncoils in the same instance.

They stop, abruptly. 

Then Black Mask's scent spikes, and the hands wound around Akira's body are practically digging into his clothes, into his skin, so much that he can only shudder.

A nose is ghosting along his throat, careful, but shaking in its core essence.

“Just look at you. Begging for it.”

The alpha’s voice is so much darker, dripping with sinful intent befitting of the shift of atmosphere around them.

Just a little more. 

“Please,” Akira whimpers. Begging is all he can do at this point. “Please please please-”

A low snarl that sends another wave of want through Akira. He doesn't know how much more he can take.

“Fuck,” Black mask curses.

Then Akira’s being laid down somewhere – probably still in the middle of Mementos, in the middle of a railway, and it should be disgusting but it’s not, not with the notion on what’s to come. There’s a raspy call of Loki and Akira doesn’t have time to question why he still feels so safe as the somewhat familiar presence mixes into his other senses.

So much stronger than any of the shadows, a chaotic maelstrom dangerous to everyone but them.

Sensing a shift in air, Akira thinks Black Mask might be hovering above him now.

He really wants to see what he’s doing – is he just as worked up as Akira is? Is he fuming, hard in his pants, aching to close the distance between their bodies in any way possible, unable to resist the physical pull?

There are sharp claws practically shredding his clothes now, and Akira could cry at getting closer to what he wants because finally, _finally_ hands are touching him – real hands, warm and large and pressing into his body, never lingering too long, almost fervently going lower and lower like they don't have time for anything until they reach and grasp his ass.

“Seducing me into fucking you in the middle of Mementos, “ Black Mask hisses. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Akira would have maybe laughed in another situation, teasingly retorted with something witty. But his higher brain functions have long since stopped working, omega instinct taking over, so he just moans at the vulgar language, showcasing his need. 

The hands leave him only to reappear at his thighs, and then Akira is being pulled forward and something wet laps at his entrance.

It's entirely unexpected after all the begging he's done. And Akira’s so worked up, so sensitive with the makeshift blindfold enhancing every sensation reaching his brain, so desperate at finally being touched that he nearly cums right then and there – the only thing saving Akira is his own hand which he’s feverishly biting into, not wanting to risk disappointing the alpha by cumming too early.

He must have done something right, because there's a pleased humm at his entrance that causes Akira to bite even harder, eyes momentarily rolling back.

The alpha is positively lapping at him now, a warm tongue slurping and sucking up the copious amount of slick like he’s just as desperate to taste him as Akira is, and that thought sends a rush of pleasure through him, making his toes curl around the alpha’s shoulders. It’s so hard to not give in, but Akira wants-

“Ahhh- A- _Alpha-_ ”

“Crow,” the alpha feverishly says, and Akira needs about five seconds to understand it’s a name – a code name, most likely.

“Just look at you. So goddamn wet for me.”

All Akira can do is hold onto the rails below him as Crow hungrily eats him out. He tries bucking his hips up to get more of that wonderful friction in lieu of his initial goal, but realizes he barely has leverage due to them being held midair by a set of strong hands digging into his flesh, probably bruising him.

Akira likes the thought of that. More uncontrollable gasps spill out of his throat, no longer muffled by his fingers as Crow finally plunges his tongue into his quivering hole, dragging it across his inner walls in torturous cycles.

The alpha pulls him even closer to get it deeper, pressing his mouth so strongly against him that Akira genuinely feels like he's being devoured, and the hotness inside of Akira retracts before expanding into hot flashes of white – Akira wails, feels more slick rushing out of him, a dark purring vibration stimulating his insides through Crow’s tongue, and he doesn’t register he’s cumming until he feels Crow’s lapping up the evidence of it on his chest.

“That sensitive, huh?” Crow chuckles, drawing mindless, wet lines on Akira’s fluttering abdomen. “ I do appreciate it.”

He doesn't sound displeased - judging by the tone of his voice, Akira thinks he might even be smug about it, having made an omega come untouched after only a few minutes. 

A breathless whine escapes the confides of Akira’s mouth when teeth suddenly clamp around his left nipple. “Crow, please- stop t-teasing me-”

His one hand darts out to grip something - Crow’s hair to press him closer or yank him away, he’ll let instinct decide - but the alpha is faster, pins Akira’s hand next to his head with unyielding force.

For a short moment it feels like Crow is going to intertwine their fingers. Claws graze Akira’s gloved palm instead and Akira nearly forgets himself at the rupture of heat cursing through his body, spreading from his hand outwards.

“You’re lucky we’re in the middle of Mementos,” grumbles the Alpha against his chest. Sucks a mark around the nub he’s been leisurely abusing for the past minute, and the skin around it flares with sharp pleasure that dries the entirety of Akira’s throat again. “Otherwise I would have had you begging for me in that sweet voice of yours for _hours._ ”

The notion of Crow teasing him mercilessly without any sort of release until Akira isn’t able to think about anything has him clenching around empty air, previously only filled by a tongue. The desire scorching his body flares up as a reminder that he still needs something else inside of him, bigger, thicker, and Akira blindly tries to reach out with his free hand despite the results of his earlier effort. 

Crow chuckles, low and dark, a sound that seems to reverberate through the entirety of Mementos. 

“Oh no, you don’t.”

Akira’s wrists are being put together, pinned above his head – the omega can only receive, is rendered useless at the way the alpha is able to manipulate his body so easily.

Akira wishes he could see him, take in his expression – would it be contorted in an angry snarl, only those red eyes of his promising cruel pleasure, or would a dark, knowing smirk greet him that’ll tighten the coil inside of Akira’s stomach even more?

He thinks he knows the answer. 

All thoughts are being vacuumed out of him the moment Akira feels something rubbing against his entrance. He barely has time to steel his nerves – this is what he’s been craving, what is he so nervous for? - when Crow pushes his hot, hard cock inside, inch after inch sliding in, stretching him wider than any toys Akira ever indulged himself in.

The maddening sensation of finally being filled is increased due to the darkness covering his eyes. Liquid pleasure runs down his spine, taking hold of Akira’s entire being as his mouth opens in a silent gasp. 

There’s a hot mouth suddenly on his, the raw scent of the alpha engulfing him once more as Crow starts to hungrily mash their lips against each other, slowly dragging his cock back out, only to thrust it back inside the moment the tip catches on the rim, sending Akira spiraling into a madness he's more than willing to give himself to.

It’s overwhelming. 

“Aahh!-”

Crow sets a brutal pace from the start. Akira wants to throw his head back, brain unable to cope with all the pleasure attacking him so viciously. But Crow holds him firmly in his place by the force of his mouth only, the same tongue that licked up copious amounts of slick diving into Akira’s mouth again and again, leaving him no time to recover in any sort of way. 

Stealing all of his breaths for himself with each greedy lick, easily wrestling down his tongue. 

Akira doesn’t even try to fight it, gives himself over to dark ecstasy that continuously pulls him deeper. 

Akira can’t see, but by the sheer, looming presence of the alpha on him, the obscene sound resonating all around, mixed with grunts and growls of Crow it’s so easy to envision the hard, angry cock slamming into his puffy entrance, stretching and filling him up so impossibly well.

There’s – Loki? Around him too, keeping curious shadows at bay, protecting them, fueling the fire with his own bloodlust that makes it all just so much more intense. 

“Such a good omega,” Crow slurs into his mouth. Akira shivers at the praise, lets the other’s tongue curl around his. “Taking me so well. Like you’re made for me.”

Akira is finally able to freely let out his shameful moans when Crow releases his throbbing lips to assault his throat with bites and kisses in turn. 

"Makes me want to claim you for myself."

The hand on his wrists tightens in tandem with Crow’s thrusts, but the slight trickles of pain only add into the cocktail of sensations the alpha is pouring all over him.

Akira willingly laps up what he can, jolts and gasps at each thrust that wrecks his body, satisfying a need so deeply nestled within Akira that thinking outside of it seems impossible. 

Then Crow lifts his hips a little, and Akira is left to interlock his previously dangling legs around Crow’s lithe waist so he has some resemblance of being, numbing pleasure shooting through his whole system, turning the darkness around his eyes into blinding white.

“I’m- I’m going to cum, please alpha, please-” Akira brokenly pleads, wanting, needing to hear if he’s allowed to cum, if the alpha decides to take pity on him again and grant him aching release.

Crow heatedly groans against his throat, bites into his collarbone before he deigns to answer. 

There’s a bit of hair in Akira’s face, and his alpha smells so fucking good, makes even more slick drip out of him at the thought of having this scent imprinted on him for days so everybody knows-

“Then go on, cum. And be loud for me, would you?”

Akira doesn’t think he’s ever been louder in his life, not when the cock inside of him hits him so well, carving its way repeatedly inside of him with a deadly accuracy that has Akira drowning.

Pure relief completely overrides any sensation his mind is able to register as the unbearable heat in Akira finally snaps. His back arches even higher, Crow releasing his wrists to fit his hands against the offered waist so he can mercilessly use the motion to grind against him, dragging out the tidal waves of his orgasm that roll over him in powerful pulses.

“Crow, CROW-”

Akira doesn’t know if he blacked out because everything is still as dark as before, only the slightest bit of light teasing him at the edges. But he comes back to the sensation of the alpha’s cock still buried inside of him, not having found its release just yet.

How a nose nuzzles his neck almost lovingly if not for the smirk he feels dragging across his wet, heated skin, accompanied by prominent canines that make his exhausted body shiver in both fear and want.

Akira’s own, soft cock twitches weakly when he feels Crow deeply inhaling.

“You smell so good, little omega. I’ll truly enjoy making you mine.”

Crow sounds drunk, as drunks as Akira feels himself.

Akira shudders in the aftermath of his release. But before he can get any coherent sound out of his mouth, _agreeing_ to what the alpha just said, Crow pulls out. 

Akira can’t even voice out his protest, barely registering the coldness surging through him at being left empty because he’s being flipped over, head on the ground, ass in the air.

His eyes widen behind the belt as Crow’s cock slowly fills him up again, the alpha’s intentions clear to him, even in his heated, omega-riddled state.

“N-no, wait!” Akira whimpers, digs his nails into the floor. He’s already been stretched out, but so short after his orgasm, even in his heat-

“I’m- I’m still sensitive, please!”

“Precisely the reason why I’m doing this,” Crow lazily drawls, fingers tracing Akira’s bare ass, scooping up some slick to teasingly smear on his lower back. 

He must have taken off his gauntlets at some point because Akira doesn’t feel the sharpness of metal, only damp, heated skin on his. 

“You begged so wonderfully for my cock earlier, so be my good, little omega and _take it._ ”

With that, Crow grabs his hips, and then Akira’s whole body is harshly being dragged back as Crow simultaneously thrusts forward.

Directly into his prostate – a hoarse scream is forced out of Akira’s throat.

And if he thought Crow’s pace had been brutal before, the speed he’s slamming into him now is merciless.

Animalistic, pure base instincts taking control over their bodies.

It’s way too much – Akira feels like his insides are being rearranged which shouldn’t really be possible, but his sight has been robbed from him for a good while now, making Akira so much more sensitive, consciously aware of how deep Crow’s cock must be reaching inside of him, dragging out sounds he doesn’t recognize as his anymore. He’s shuddering, overstimulated-

Crows hasn't even knotted him yet.

And it’s so fucking _good._

There’s old pleasure from Akira's earlier relief still trying to subdue properly. It’s unable to, continuously being buried under new sensations of fresh, heated waves of pleasure and staked by raw overstimulation bordering on painful. Akira presses his head into the floor, uncaring of how dirty or distorted it is, wishes he could move- to escape the chaos inside his mind or to fully plunge into it, he isn’t sure.

And then Akira finally feels it – something thicker forming at the base of the alpha’s cock, swelling. Crow’s breathing becomes more ragged, more desperate above him as he claws at Akira with a hunger that matches how boneless Akira is feeling right now, floating somewhere between physical sensations and another realm where it all blends together and he’s just there to take it all in.

Akira’s sure he’s still somewhat soft, his own pathetic cock weeping midair, but Crow doesn’t care, never ceases his motions. Sheathes his length as deep inside as possible, using Akira like he’s a mere toy to find release in and Akira shudders at that, moans uncontrollably.

“Crow,” Akira pants into the ground, hopes the alpha hears him over the obscene sounds of their wet flesh slapping against each other. “So good-”

Something desperate uncurls in his stomach. It’s a deeper need at feeling the knot enlarge with each thrust, but not slipping in, making Akira succumb to something he can’t comprehend at the moment, only knowing he needs it inside of him or else it'll all crumble down.

“Please- please knot me.”

He receives a growl in response, a stuttering of the alpha’s hips.

“No- no, I can’t. As much as I want to fill you up, this is-”

“I want it,” Akira chants, delirious with a single goal in mind. 

He lifts his head a little, turns it into the direction he knows Crow is hovering above him. “Please knot me. Alpha, _Crow_ , please, give me your cock, give me your _knot_ , I really need it-”

Akira’s stomach contracts when he hears Crow practically roar, and he grows pliant, slack, obedient under the roughness of his voice.

“You little- I’m going to breed you, you hear me? Fuck you over and over again until you’re dripping with my seed, begging me to stop and continue in the same breath.”

“Please,” Akira whimpers and cries out in pain with how forcefully Crow’s hands are bruising his hips now, changing his pace from brutal fucking to slow, hard thrusts that makes him sees stars.

“You really want it, don’t you?” Crow deliriously growls. _“Ahh-_ I wouldn’t stop, no matter how prettily you’ll beg. I’ll- fill you _again and again_ \- until your stomach is swollen. And then I’d still keep you on my cock, plug everything up, have you cum one last time so you’ll forget-”

Everything that isn’t tied to Crow is a mere droplet in an ocean. 

A small, insignificant sensation compared to the raw pleasure seizing Akira’s entire body when the alpha finally manages to shove his entire knot him, stretching Akira so fucking wide that he completely loses all grasp on his surroundings and nothing else but this matters.

Akira’s howling, back arching as the rest of his body convulses-

-and something sharp sinks into his neck, right into his scent glands, raw pleasure mixing with an entirely different sort of pain. 

Hot fluids scathe his insides and Akira cums so hard he collapses in on himself only a second after, Crow the only one keeping him up as he releases cum and slick all over the floor.

Akira is pretty sure he’s somewhere else other than here – he feels so warm now, so full, so satisfied, a knot still inside of him, together with an unfamiliar, new sense tugging at the remains of his coherency, instinctively telling him he’s safe as the- _his_ alpha drapes himself across his back, exhausted.

A gravelly _fuck_ against the base of Akira’s sweaty, bloody neck is the last thing he registers before he gives into everything and passes out.

* * *

**2 weeks later**

* * *

Akira is listening to his friends bicker about what food they’ll get when someone rounds the corner, bringing a vaguely familiar smell with him. 

Probably someone he met before.

“I happened to be passing by, so it seemed polite to greet you,” the newcomer says, smiling at them. He’s handsome in a polite, almost pretty way.

Longish hair combined with an almost princely face give the faint impression of an omega if not for how he holds himself, confident and assured, consuming more space than he actually takes. 

The stranger gives Akira’s friends an eye smile. “We’ll be filming together, after all.”

There's something sharp prowling beneath his words. Akira’s eyes trail towards a hand holding a briefcase, and it seems tense, cludging around it harder than necessary.

A certain restlessness the alpha seems to have gotten somewhat used to, but can’t shake off. 

A weird sensation overcomes Akira, making his neck tingle – he feels a little less empty than before, the horrible sensation of charred loneliness and dread he's become familiar with over the past weeks suddenly subduing little by little as he takes in the other’s scent fully.

“Ah, where are my manners?" the alpha continues. "My name is Goro Ake-”

The detective breaks off mid sentence.

Distinctive, red eyes widen momentarily, and Akira finally realizes he’s smelling the same scent that threw him into a frenzy two weeks ago. 

Old books, lemongrass, leather, something... metallic. 

Akira feels a slight pull in his heart and a sizzling warmth in his lower abdomen that’s both comfortable and insistent and the bite mark on his neck throbs and their eyes meet and-

_Oh._

**Author's Note:**

> What if I tell you I have sequels planned for most of the fics I post during the week?
> 
> [My (mostly) Akeshu twitter!](https://twitter.com/voraciousTash)


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